


Don't Dream It's Over

by Skarabrae_stone



Series: And the Fall to Doom a Long Way Away [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Female Bucky Barnes, Gen, Trans Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:50:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarabrae_stone/pseuds/Skarabrae_stone
Summary: Nick Fury is dead, there's a deadly super-assassin loose in D.C, and SHIELD is intent on hunting Steve down. And possibly taking over the world. And, oh yeah, SHIELD might actually be HYDRA? It's been a long day, even by Steve's standards, and it's not even halfway over yet.Or, Steve, Natasha, and Sam cause destruction and mayhem in Washington, D.C. As usual, Peggy saves their asses.





	1. Try to Catch the Deluge

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the events of CA:WS in the And the Fall to Doom a Long Way Away AU. If you wanted more Peggy Carter being badass in this universe, here it is.  
> Also, I am working on a sequel to AFDLW (wow, that is NOT a catchy acronym), but I wanted to get some of the events leading up to it figured out first. Plus, I love The Winter Soldier and couldn't resist doing my own take on it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve falls out with SHIELD in rather spectacular fashion. Peggy tries to run damage control.

 

_There is freedom within, there is freedom without_  
_Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup_  
_There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost_  
_But you'll never see the end of the road_  
_While you're traveling with me_

\--"Don't Dream It's Over", Crowded House

 

After the meeting with Pierce, after the elevator, after the goddamned _quinjet_ , Steve goes back to the hospital. The drive’s gone.

He has a moment of panic before a familiar voice says, “Looking for this?”

Natasha’s standing behind him, holding the drive. He’s never been so glad to see her.

“Natasha. How did you—?”

Her expression goes inscrutable. “Not here.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and pushes open the door to one of the examining rooms. “Here, then.”

She follows him inside, looking wary, and waits while he locks the door.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

He runs a hand through his sweat-spiked hair, wishing he had any idea how to answer that. “Great question,” he says, a little hysterically. “So glad you asked. Got any others?”

“Steve.”

“Okay, yeah.” He takes a breath, trying to calm himself. He’s quivering with adrenaline and… shock, maybe. Something like that. A metal-armed assassin attacked his apartment, Nick Fury’s dead, and SHIELD is hunting him. It’s been a long day, and it’s not even halfway over.

“Okay,” he says again. “I don’t—I haven’t figured out much. SHIELD’s definitely compromised. I don’t—I don’t know how bad. Alexander Pierce is involved. Other agents too, definitely the Strike Team, I don’t know who all for sure. They might be HYDRA, might be something else.” He meets her eyes. “I have literally no idea how far the corruption runs. Nick said not to trust anybody.”

She frowns. “So why are you trusting me?”

It takes Steve a minute to realize what she’s saying; he’d laugh if he wasn’t so strung out. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Natasha just looks at him. Steve takes another deep breath. Then another. It’s not as helpful as he’d like it to be.

“Natasha. I trust you, okay? There’s no one else I’d rather have on my six. But we gotta figure this out, fast. They’re after me, and if they realize you’re with me, they’ll come after you, too.”

“I didn’t say I was coming with you,” she points out.

“You didn’t say water was wet, either. I just assumed.”

The corner of her mouth twitches upward. “You probably assumed right.”

“Uh huh,” he says, a bit snarkily, because he knows Natasha has a _thing_ about people trusting her, but now is _not_ the time. “So what we need to do is contact Peggy, let her know what’s going on, and then figure out whatever the hell is on this drive that’s so important. Oh, and not get killed.”

“Or captured.”

“Or captured.”

Her eyes glint. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Well,” he says, unable, in spite of everything, or perhaps because of everything, to keep a smirk off his face, “I _am_ the Man with a Plan.”

Natasha groans and punches him, and they head out.

 ***

When the commotion starts, Peggy’s first thought is, _What the hell has Steve done now?_ Because, let’s face it, there are only two people who could cause that much ruckus here, and one of them is currently in a hospital in Los Angeles. Sure enough, within minutes there’s a red alert, and strike teams running all over the place, and it takes all her strength and training to walk calmly to the main briefing room, where other agents are gathered.

As Sitwell gives orders to surveil every piece of technology they have access to in order to find Captain America, Peggy risks sending Natasha a text.

**how’s charlie?**

**I thought you had him last?** Natasha answers, and Peggy feels her stomach clench.

_Do not panic_ , she tells herself. _They haven’t caught him yet_. Though heaven only knows _why_ he’s suddenly decided to go rogue.

**keep an eye out** , she texts. **he’s slipped his lead, don’t know where he’ll run off to.**

**don’t worry** , says Natasha. **I know where he buried a bone.**

Well, that’s a relief, anyway. If Steve is doing something reckless—and, since it’s Steve, he almost definitely is—at least he’ll have backup. Peggy represses a sigh, and returns her phone to her pocket.

“I think we have a right to know why we’re pursuing Captain America,” says Sharon Carter, one of the younger agents. Peggy knows she’s been assigned to tail Steve more than once. The fact that they share a last name was enough to interest her in the other woman, and she’s come to like her in the past couple of years. Sharon has a clear head, and isn’t afraid to do her own thinking—traits which Peggy values. The SHIELD higher-ups… not so much.

“Captain America has information about Director Fury’s death,” says a new voice, and Peggy looks up to see Alexander Pierce coming through the door. Bollocks. This is even bigger than she thought. “Information which he refuses to share. As much as I hate to say it, Captain America is now a fugitive from SHIELD.”

Ouch. Sharon doesn’t say anything else, but the mulish look on her face makes Peggy think she’s not convinced. Once… whatever this is… is over, she’ll have to talk to that girl about her poker face.

Peggy herself says nothing, just gets to work looking through traffic cam footage. According to SHIELD’s files, she’s a data analyst— only a few people know her more classified role in the organization, and she’d like to keep it that way. On the other hand, several of those people are now spearheading the hunt for Captain America, so… it’s possible her cover won’t do any good in this situation, anyway. The best she can do is fill her role as SHIELD’s loyal little agent, and hope she can get enough information to figure out what the hell is going on before it’s too late.

There’s video of his motorcycle heading down Florida Avenue, and she casually deletes it before anyone can see. It’s not much, but just now, it’s all she can do.

She doesn’t jump when her phone buzzes, nor does she take it out of her pocket. Instead, she waits about ten minutes, then heads to the loo. Only when she’s in the privacy of one of the stalls does she check her messages.

The text is from Natasha.

**found charlie** _,_ it reads.

Peggy sighs in relief.

**thought he might have got in a spot of bother with animal control** _,_ she responds.

**he has. But i got him a new collar, so we’re alright for now.**

**Anything i can do?**

There’s a long pause. She can almost hear Natasha considering how best to get the relevant information across, without giving too much away.

**It’s bigger than we thought** , she says at last. **Stiff upper lip, my dear.**

Which is their code for “Watch your back”. Something is wrong, very wrong. Peggy just hopes they’ll survive it.

 ***

Natasha finds coordinates on the drive, and they head out of the Internet café just in time to see agents converging on them from several directions.

“Walk slow,” says Natasha. “Act casual. They haven’t seen us yet.”

Steve slings his arm around her, like he would have with Becky, and lets his stride become more of a saunter. “Okay?”

“Lean down, act like you’re whispering to me.”

He does, making sure the bill of his baseball cap covers her face as well as his. She helps the illusion by turning into him, hair swinging in front of her face.

_Isn’t the red hair kind of a giveaway?_ he wonders, and then realizes: he’s the one they’re looking for, not her. There’s a very good possibility that no one is even aware that Natasha’s gone.

They stand on the escalator, going up while a group of agents come down. Natasha gives him a mischievous grin, stepping in close so they’re nearly touching.

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”

It’s something she and Peggy have mentioned before, ways to hide in plain sight. _People see what they expect to see_ , Peggy said a few months back, as they relaxed in her living room. _The ones who think they know what they’re looking for are the easiest to fool._

“Yeah,” he murmurs, lowering his head, “they do,” and presses his lips to hers. Natasha’s arms tighten around his neck, and then they’re at the top, and they walk away, arms around each other. Nobody looks at them twice. Nobody notices them at all.

“So, Peggy’s not gonna kill me for that, right?” he asks as they exit the mall, and Natasha grins.

“Depends on what I tell her.”

 ***

“This is such shitty timing,” Steve grumbles as they drive toward New Jersey in the rusty pickup they’d liberated from the mall parking lot. “Thor’s not due back to Earth for another month, Tony’s getting heart surgery, Bruce is—where is Bruce, again?”

“Tibet,” says Natasha, tapping away at her phone. “That meditation thing.”

Steve grimaces. “Right. No phones.”

“No phones, and he’ll be there for another nine days.”

He sighs. “Well, maybe he can break us out of prison if this all goes south.”

“If we’re not dead by then.”

“See, that’s what I like about you, Nat. Always such an optimist.”

“Well, someone’s gotta rein in you reckless hero-types.”

“True.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “What about Clint? Where’s he at?”

“New York.” She frowns down at her phone for a long moment. “Let’s see if Peggy can get in touch with him. I don’t have his latest burner number right now, and I’m sure as hell not contacting him on his SHIELD phone.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She props her feet up on the dashboard. “So, where did you learn to hotwire cars?”

He switches lanes, keeping an eye on the red car that’s been behind them for the last couple miles. He doesn’t think it’s following them, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. “Afghanistan. Don’t get mud on the dashboard, I’m planning on returning this thing.”

She removes her boots, casting him an amused look. “You’re such a Boy Scout, Rogers.”

They flash past an exit, and the red car pulls off. A little tension eases in his shoulders. “Oh, come on, Nat, there’s no need to be insulting.”

“That's right, I forgot about your little feud.”

“Hey, they asked me to speak at their national meeting thing, I spoke. It’s not my fault they’re a bunch of homophobes.”

“Of course not,” she says drily. “Although I’m pretty sure they banned you because you got into a shouting match with Tillerson, not because of the speech.”

He shrugs. “He was being an asshole. It’s not like I like giving speeches anyway.”

“I don’t know, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

He can’t help a grin at that. “Well, they changed their policy last year. So I guess I win, huh?”

Natasha thumps her head back against the headrest. “You’re impossible, you know that? It’s a wonder you didn’t end up on the lam before now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He accelerates around a tractor trailer, watching it recede in the rearview mirror.

“The Winter Soldier,” he says eventually. “I know you said there’s not a lot of… information out there…”

“There’s none,” she corrects. “Most of the agents I’ve talked to think she’s a ghost story.”

“But you fought her.”

“I got shot,” says Natasha, and he can hear the edge in her voice, the underlying irritation at being bested at her own game. “There wasn’t a fight—there was no contest. If she’d wanted to kill me, she would’ve. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Steve purses his lips, thinking of the figure on the rooftop, of his shield hurled back at him with nearly unbelievable speed and precision. That, above all else, is what throws him—that someone who’s never trained with the thing could use it with such accuracy. It’s not as easy as it looks; it took the other Avengers months of training just to be able to throw it back to him. The Winter Soldier had made it look effortless. 

“Could you tell me again?” he asks. “Everything you can remember, all the details you can think of. I need—I need information. All I can get.”

She cocks her head. “You think we’ll run into her again?”

Steve glances over at her, meets her eyes for the briefest of moments. “Nat… I know we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic, and this chapter, are from the song "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House.  
> The Boy Scouts voted to allow boys to join/stay in the troop regardless of sexual orientation in 2013. Rex Tillerson was their president from 2010-2012. In this story, Steve gave the speech in question in 2012.  
> There's a story about why Natasha and Steve already trust each other by this point. I'll post it at some point.  
> For the sake of convenience, Tony is having heart surgery/getting the arc reactor removed in Los Angeles at this point in the timeline, and is therefore unable to help. I always thought it was weird that none of the Avengers are around for the giant SHIELD debacle in the original CA:WS, so I tried to come up with a plausible excuse for their absence in this story.


	2. Tell Me Where Can I Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everyone we know is trying to kill us."  
> "Not everyone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm realizing that this story won't make a ton of sense unless you're familiar with the Winter Soldier plot. I didn't bother to explain most of the stuff that wouldn't be changed by this au. Sorry about that, and feel free to comment if you want clarification on something!

_I want to hear it from you_  
_Let me know how you feel_  
_You've got to make up your mind_  
_Tell me where I can run_  
_When my roof tumbles in?_

\--"I Want to Hear it From You", Gordon Lightfoot

They find the information they’re looking for, and get the building dropped on them in the process. Steve carries Natasha out of the wreckage and into the nearby woods, and makes it a couple of miles before she starts protesting.

“I’m fine, Steve. Put me down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Put me down, or so help me I will stab this knife—”

“I get it, I get it,” he says hastily, and sets her on her feet.

She doesn’t, in fact, look too terrible—a bit battered, sure, but she doesn’t seem to be bleeding heavily or have any obviously broken bones. Considering the odds against them, this probably counts as a win.

Steve himself is sore and exhausted and he’s pretty sure his back is just one big bruise, but he’s had worse, so he ignores it.

“Okay,” she says. “Next step.”

“I don’t know what our next step is,” he admits.

She starts walking, threading her way through the underbrush with uncharacteristic stiffness. “We need someplace to lie low,” she says. “Food. Water. That sort of thing.”

He ducks a branch, then nearly trips over a log. “I’d suggest Peggy’s, but…”

“They’re sure to have eyes on her,” she finishes. “That’s probably where they expect us to go.”

This leads his thoughts in another direction. “Will she be safe? The last time they—I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time they went after her.”

Natasha stops long enough to give him a look that’s part exasperation, part sympathy. “Steve. There is literally nothing you can do for Pegs right now. We need to worry about us.”

“But—”

“We need somewhere to go.”

It rankles with him, but he knows she’s right. He also knows that Peggy is more than capable of taking care of herself, and probably wouldn’t thank him for his protectiveness. _She knows what’s going on, and she knows what she’s doing. Let her do her job, and get on with yours._

“There’s a guy I know,” he says after a moment. “Sam Wilson. We—we’ve hung out, a few times. He seems pretty decent.”

“‘Seems pretty decent’,” says Natasha in disbelief. “Really, Steve? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Natasha,” he says, a little irritably, “Can you think of a single better option right now? ‘Cause if you do, I’d love to hear it.”

There’s a pause. Then she sighs. “Okay, fine. Let’s find this Wilson guy. If he turns out to be HYDRA, we can always kill him.”

“I can’t believe this is my life,” Steve mutters, but he feels marginally better for having a clear goal ahead of him, even if it’s just the next step.

Now all they have to do is find a car.

 ***

Sam opens his door, and his eyebrows shoot upwards. There’s a silence of several seconds, while Steve realizes how they must look—dirty and bruised, Natasha’s make-up smeared, his shirt speckled with dried blood.

“Hey, man,” Sam says at last. “What’s up?”

Steve steels himself, guilt settling on his shoulders even as he opens his mouth. But they don’t have a choice. They’ve exhausted all their other options. “I’m really sorry about this,” he says, “but we need your help.”

Natasha shifts beside him. “Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” she says flatly.

Sam looks at her, then back at Steve, his expression unreadable.

 _He’s gonna turn us down,_ Steve thinks. He can’t blame him. The guy barely knows him.

“Not everyone,” says Sam, and steps back to let them in.

***

Steve comes out of the bathroom to find Natasha staring into space, one hand frozen in the midst of toweling her hair dry.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine.” She starts toweling her hair again, avoiding his gaze.

Since _fine_ , by Natasha’s standards, pretty much means _not dead or about to die_ , this isn’t particularly helpful.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” She sighs, looks down at her lap. “I thought I was going straight.”

He chews on that for a second, then says, “Nat, I know it’s—they’ve got a bigger hold than we thought. But we’ve done good work with the Avengers. I don’t think we’ve just been—doing HYDRA’s bidding, all this time. Hell, I bet we’ve screwed up more than a few of their plans. That’s why they’re coming after us in the first place, right?”

“I’m not talking about the Avengers,” she says quietly. “I’ve done a lot of dirty work for Nick, Steve. I thought—” She breaks off, twists the towel around her hands. “I’m not like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just—I grew up in the Red Room, Steve. I went straight from the KGB to the GRU. I never—whatever moral compass I had? I’m pretty sure it’s—I don’t know—damaged. Skewed. So I… I needed—” She takes a breath. “I thought, with SHIELD, I could—I thought I knew whose lies I was telling. But I—I guess I just can’t tell the difference.”

Steve regards her silently for a moment, then holds out his arms in invitation. It’s a sign of how far they’ve come that Natasha doesn’t hesitate, burrowing into his hug like she’s hiding from something. He presses his cheek to the top of her damp hair and says softly, “You have a moral compass, Tasha. You know how I know?”

Her voice is muffled. “How?”

“‘Cause four years ago, you made the choice to come to SHIELD, because you wanted to do something good in the world. And you have. You’ve been a good friend and a good ally, and you’ve faced down aliens and HYDRA and AIM and God knows what else, and here you are doing it again. And maybe HYDRA pulled the wool over our eyes, but guess what? They fooled Nick, too, and he’s—he was—damned hard to fool. So maybe a few of our—your—missions weren’t—what we thought they were. I think it evens out.”

She pulls away from him, managing a weary smile. “You make a damn good speech, Rogers.”

“Well, all those PR stunts had to be good for something, right?”

This gets a chuckle from her. “Yeah, yeah. Captain Rogers, king of the media.”

“You better believe it.”

They’re interrupted by Sam, still looking bemused and a little wary at having a pair of fugitive super-soldiers (or one super-soldier and one super-spy) sitting in his guest room.

“I’ve got breakfast,” he says, leaning in the doorway. “If you, uh, eat that sort of thing.”

 ***

Over breakfast, Natasha texts Peggy, updating her on their situation. The phone buzzes, and she nearly knocks over Steve’s orange juice in her haste to grab it.

“What did she say?”

Natasha hands him her phone. “Not sure yet. I need—hey, Wilson—”

“Sam is fine.”

“Okay, Sam. I need something to write with, do you have—”

“Yeah, hang on a sec.”

Sam hands her a pencil and an envelope, and Natasha nods to Steve. “Okay. Read them out slowly.”

Steve scrolls to the first text, and reads:

**Still here, cloudy atm but chance of showers later on. I’ve got a brolly, so hopefully i won’t get wet.**

**Sound wanted a traffic acumen6, but no luck. 36 mph winds predicted.**

**My piercing’s infected—i’m keeping an eye on it, but i expect i’ll need medication.**

**Bunker is un-particled19 too attached to charlie**

**Do give my love to the robinsons!**

He looks up at Natasha. “What the hell?”

“She’s okay, but expecting trouble,” says Natasha. “Go to thesaurus.com and look up ‘acumen’, will you? Read me the sixth synonym down.”

Steve looks it up, and feels himself stiffen. “’Insight.’ It’s ‘insight’.”

“Okay,” she murmurs. “So Fury tried to delay Insight, but it’s going ahead. We’ve got thirty-six hours.”

“Wait, how do you—”

“It’s association,” she says patiently. “Nick Fury is ‘Sound’—”

“ _The Sound and the Fury_ ,” says Sam, coming over with a plate full of eggs. “Nice.”

She shoots him a brief smile. “Exactly. Traffic means delay. And miles-per-hour—”

“Hours,” Steve finishes. “Okay. I can guess the next one—Pierce, right? He’s HYDRA, she’s keeping an eye on him. What’s Bunker?”

“Maria Hill. Un-particled, though…”

“Hang on, looking up a synonym.” He looks at his phone. “Um. nineteenth synonym for ‘particle’ is ‘mote.’”

Natasha looks frustrated. “Un-mote? That’s not a word.”

“Demote,” says Sam.

They both look at him, and he shrugs.

“What? Always been good at crossword puzzles.”

“Alright, then,” says Steve. “So Maria got… demoted because—who’s Charlie?”

“You.”

“ _Me_?”

“Captain starts with C, phonetic code is Charlie, and it’s not as obvious as the other ideas we tossed around.”

Steve buries his face in his hands. “Do I _want_ to know?”

She grins. “Well, we thought about ‘Sparkler’, but…”

“Naat,” he groans, but he can’t help smiling. It feels good to have information, to know who they’re fighting, even if the odds are pretty damned intimidating. “Okay,” he says. “So Hill’s probably an ally, for all the good that does right now. What’s the thing with the Robinsons?”

To his surprise, Natasha flushes. “In-joke,” she says shortly. “Anyway, we need to figure out what the hell is up with this Insight thing—”

“Which means we need to figure out who’s in charge of this Insight thing.”

“We already know Pierce—”

“We need someone lower-level, someone we can—”

“persuade—”

“Jasper Sitwell,” says Steve. “He was on the Lemurian Star, remember?”

Natasha’s lips form a silent “oh”. “So the question is, how do two of the most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

Sam, who’s been listening attentively in the background, shakes his head. “They don’t. You need someone who won’t send up a dozen red flags the minute he walks outside.”

He hands Steve a manila envelope, his expression hovering somewhere between excitement and studied nonchalance.

“What’s this?”

Sam grins, leaning back on the counter behind him. “Call it a resume.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "I Want to Hear it From You" by Gordon Lightfoot.  
> I used a lot of direct quotes from the movie for this one.


	3. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets the Winter Soldier.

_Names are for calling when there's nothing left to say_

-"Walls", Gordon Lightfoot

  
  
The plan, if it can really be called a plan, is simple enough: kidnap Sitwell, use his biometrics to access the helicarriers, disable the helicarriers somehow, get the hell out. Step one goes perfectly. Then the Winter Soldier shows up, and it all goes to hell.

Steve isn’t used to being outmatched. Natasha is an excellent fighter, and so are plenty of the people he goes up against in the field, but Steve’s strength and endurance usually give him an edge. The Winter Soldier, however, is just as fast as he is, just as strong and perhaps more skilled, and she has a fucking _metal arm_ and an apparently limitless number of weapons.

Steve’s just lucky she’s out of ammo for the moment, or he’d already be dead.

They fight in the deserted street, slamming each other against abandoned cars and overturned buses, the smell of burning fuel acrid in Steve’s nostrils. He gives it everything he’s got, kicking and punching and blocking blow after blow after blow, and it’s not enough.

No sooner does he knock the knife from her grip than the Soldier draws another one, stabbing at his face, his heart, his unprotected belly—and Steve doesn’t have his suit to protect him. If he fails to dodge any of her blows, she’ll gut him like a fish, and even his enhanced healing abilities won’t save him.

His arms ache and his back aches and he’s sweating and hot and for the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers is scared for his goddamned life.

He blocks, and blocks, and blocks, backing away from her onslaught until he’s right up against an SUV; he ducks under her arm, twists, flings her in a way that would have landed a normal fighter right on their back. The Soldier, though, flips in midair and lands on her feet, already rushing to attack him again. He barely avoids her, diving across the hood of the SUV and rolling across the ground on the other side.

Her metal arm slams down like the hammer of Thor as he rolls aside. There’s a crack, her fist shattering the pavement where his head was a moment ago.

The miss puts her off-balance for just a second, just long enough for Steve to get upright, to grab his shield again. She punches at him, slaps open-handed across his face, but he comes in under the blow and slams the shield into the back of her left arm, between the shifting metal plates.

Before she has time to recover, he grabs her face and flips her over his shoulder with all the strength he can muster. Something gives beneath his hand, and when she lands, her mask is lying on the ground between them.

The Soldier seems winded by the fall; she gets up a little more slowly this time, her back to Steve, and if he had a gun this would be the time to shoot her in the head. But he doesn’t, and he’s not sure if he would, anyway—he feels held in place, by weariness or fear or, perhaps, morbid curiosity as he realizes he’s about to see her face.

She turns, and he sees:

Blue eyes (but he knew she had blue eyes, had looked at them as they fought, had wondered, in those brief panicked moments, if they were the last things he’d ever see).

Strong nose, full lips, slightly cleft chin.

It’s a face he’d know anywhere—the face he’s drawn hundreds, maybe thousands, of times, has mourned and recalled and dreamed about for ten years. He knows the curve of those lips in every mood, the feel of that mouth against his.

He stands, staring, and the Winter Soldier stares back with not a trace of recognition in her eyes, without a flicker of expression in her once-so-expressive face. For a long moment, neither of them move. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like a helicopter coming in to land, and the fight goes out of him because that face means _safety_ , this person means _home_ , and surely all he has to do is speak her name and everything will be alright.

His voice, when it emerges, is cracked with disbelief and wonder.

“Becky?”

There’s a long pause, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting—for her to vanish like a ghost, or for her mouth to curl in the familiar smile, for her to crack some joke about dumb punks who can’t keep their asses out of trouble, or for her to tell him that she’s HYDRA now, that she will never be his again.

Whatever it is, it’s not for her to turn that blank look on him, brows furrowed slightly, and ask, “Who the hell is Becky?”

And Steve is—he’s falling, or he’s watching her fall, all over again, her white face slipping further away from him, and he’s searching for her among the prisoners in the Hindu Kush and he’s finding her strapped to that damned table, mumbling her name and serial number over and over…

She’s pulled a gun from somewhere and she’s aiming at him, but it doesn’t occur to him to raise his shield or duck for cover. This is _Becky_ , and she’s _alive_ , or maybe he’s dead, or maybe this is all some kind of hallucination, but there’s no world in which she would hurt him, and so he stands stock still and looks into her blank blue eyes as she chambers a round, as she points the barrel at his head—

There’s a rush of air, and Sam is there, kicking her down, pushing Steve out of the way; a bang, and the cars around Becky go up in flames, and she disappears like a mirage, like a ghost, and Steve looks up and he sees Sam, wings folded, and Natasha, clutching her shoulder, and from every direction he hears the sound of sirens. A parade of black armored vehicles is converging on them, and he knows they’re done for. There’s no place left to run or hide, and he knows he should be worried about that, about what’s coming and what he’s roped Sam and Natasha into, but all he can think about is Becky.

_Becky is alive. Becky doesn’t recognize me. Becky doesn’t know her own name._

People in tac gear pile out of the vans holding large guns, and a loudspeaker voice says, “Drop your weapons. Put your hands in the air. Kneel.”

The shield drops from his fingers with a clatter. Everything seems very far away, sounds coming in and out of focus like a radio with bad reception. He thinks someone’s talking to him, but he can’t hear it over the words in his own head.

_She’s alive. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know her own name._

“Kneel!” someone says, and kicks him in the back of the knee.

He drops easily, still staring ahead into nothing. Cold metal presses to his head, and his arms are jerked behind his back.

_Becky’s alive. Becky doesn’t know me._

Metal bites into his wrists—handcuffs of some kind, cinched painfully tight. Above him, a familiar voice— _Rumlow_ , he realizes, _it’s Rumlow_ —says, “Not here. _Not. Here._ Get ‘em in the van.”

_Becky’s alive._

He’s forced to his feet, shoved into the back of a van. His head bangs against the metal side, and then they’re fastening his cuffs to something behind him, twisting his arms at a painfully awkward angle.

_Becky doesn’t know who I am._

The door slams. He blinks, and realizes that Sam and Natasha are cuffed to the wall opposite him, both looking distinctly the worse for wear. Sam is looking at him like… he’s not sure, exactly. Like he’s waiting for Steve to have a way out of their current crisis, or like he already knows this is it.

And suddenly, Steve knows too: they’re not going to survive this.

The van rumbles into motion, picking up speed, and Steve looks at Sam, meaning to apologize, maybe, or ask if he’s alright, or… something. Instead, he says, “She didn’t even know me.”

“What?”

Steve stares at his knees, at the rip in his pants where he’d hit the pavement. The skin underneath is unblemished, not so much as a scratch.

“Becky,” he says. “It was her. She’s the Winter Soldier.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Natasha says in a strained voice, “Steve… Becky’s dead. You said you watched her fall, how…?”

The same question has been circling in Steve’s mind since the mask came off, but when he opens his mouth, he finds he has an answer. “Zola. He did—experiments on her, when she was a prisoner. He must have—they must have figured out a serum. She survived the fall.”

He closes his eyes, letting his head thump back against the wall of the van. “Oh God, she survived and I didn’t—I gave up, I stopped looking for her…”

“Steve,” Sam starts, but just then the van goes over a bump, and Natasha gives a little gasp. “Natasha? Are you…” He trails off, and Steve follows his gaze: blood, soaking steadily through the shoulder of her jacket.

“She’s bleeding,” says Sam sharply, and turns toward the guards. “Hey, she’s been shot, we need to put pressure on this or she’ll bleed out.”

Steve has a feeling he’s wasting his time—he’s pretty sure Rumlow and his goons aren’t planning to keep them alive. Sure enough, the guards don’t react at all, faces hidden by their helmets.

“Do you hear me?” says Sam, his voice rising with fear and indignation. “She’s hurt, we need to put pressure on this!”

One of the guards activates a taser, and Steve starts struggling, tugging uselessly at his restraints in an attempt to protect the others.

The taser slashes through the air, and one of the guards yells and keels over; there’s a brief flurry of movement, and then the other guards are down, slumped on the floor of the van. Taser Guard pulls off their helmet, revealing a familiar face.

“Thank God,” says Maria Hill. “That thing was squeezing my brains.”

“Hill?” Steve says dumbly. “What are you…”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” she asks brightly. She kneels down next to Sam, and starts fiddling with his cuffs. “I got demoted.”

“Uh, yeah, but…”

“There you go.” She releases Sam, who sits forward, shaking out his shoulders and rubbing his wrists. “There’s a first aid kit under the bench there, next to Steve.”

She sets to work on Natasha, brisk and efficient as always. “You alright there, Romanov?”

Natasha gives her a weak smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not as comforting as you seem to think it is,” says Sam, returning with the first aid kit. “I’m gonna move your jacket, okay?”

“Do what you have to do,” she responds. There’s a click, and the cuffs fall off. “Oh, thank fuck, those were really hurting.”

“So is there a second part to this plan?” asks Steve, as Hill unlocks his manacles. Unlike the others, his feet have been cuffed together, too. HYDRA was taking no chances.

“We’re gonna climb out through the floor of the van,” she says.

Steve blinks. “Won’t that just get us run over?”

“Barton’s behind us.” She crouches down to release his feet, and Steve stretches his newly-freed arms with relief. “When he gives the signal, we’ll go through, and he’ll pick us up.”

“So Peggy did get ahold of him,” he says.

“Yeah, we managed to get things figured out this morning.” She finishes with his feet, pulls out something that looks like a soldering iron, and proceeds to _melt a hole in the floor_. “It was a bit difficult, since, well… no one knew who to trust.”

“Yes, I can see that being a problem,” says Steve drily. He skirts the hole she’s carving in the floor with her weird laser-device, and crouches next to Natasha.

“Nat? How you doing?”

“Fine,” she says, through gritted teeth.

Steve looks at Sam, who’s wrapping layers of gauze around and around her upper arm.

“It’s just a graze, luckily,” he says. “Still a lot more bleeding than I’d like, but… it could be worse.” He ties the bandage off, then helps Natasha pull her jacket back on, pinning the sleeve to act as a sling. “As long as we can get you stitched up pretty soon, you should be fine,” he tells her.

“Thanks.” She winces a little as he settles the jacket into place.

“No problem.”

“Two minutes. Copy,” says Hill, and Steve realizes she’s wearing a com. “Okay, we got two minutes, then we’ll go out.”

“What about our gear?” asks Steve.

“Barton got it. Your shield and the wingpack—that was it, right?”

Steve nods.

“Great. I’m Maria Hill, by the way,” she adds to Sam. “Former Deputy Director of SHIELD. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Sam Wilson. I’d shake your hand, but, well…” He makes a gesture, indicating his blood-covered hands.

“Understood.” She glances at her watch. “Alright, thirty seconds. Cap? How do you want to do this?”

“The van’ll be stopped?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Sam first, then Natasha. Hill, you go next, and I’ll take the rear. If the vehicle starts moving, I’ve got a better chance of getting through without injuring myself,” he adds, when Hill looks him askance.

“Okay.” She positions herself on one side of the gap, Steve on the other. “Standing by.”

There’s a jerk, and the van stops. “Now!”

Sam hustles through, rolling away from the hole underneath the vehicle. Steve helps Natasha down, then Hill. The van starts to move just as he drops down, and he has to flatten himself to the road to avoid getting hit on the head.

“Stay down,” Hill commands. “Don’t move.”

The van speeds off, and another vehicle bears down on them—a truck with high clearance. They stay motionless, squeezed into the middle of the lane, and the truck’s wheels go neatly on either side of them. It slows just as the back wheels clear Steve, and Hill says, “Get in the back!”

They scramble out from beneath the truck, Sam wrenching the tailgate down at a run as he tries to keep up. Hill dives in, and Steve tosses Natasha in after, heedless of her complaints. They’re all inside, the vehicle picking up speed, when Steve takes a running leap and makes it in.

Hill slams the tailgate shut behind him, and they all sit in breathless silence for a minute.

Steve’s the first to speak. “Hey Hill,” he says. “Please tell me that’s Clint driving, and not some random stranger.”

She huffs a laugh, and digs a com out of her pocket. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the whole "Maria Hill getting demoted" thing comes from this outtake from the movie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ci_JcFr7DKc . Basically, Sitwell sends Maria back to New York because he suspects she's loyal to Captain America rather than "SHIELD". 
> 
> This chapter deals with a bit of WS that always really bugged me-- namely, how Steve & co escape the HYDRA van after Hill shows up. Like, okay, they melted a hole in the floor. Then what? Did they drop out through the floor while it was moving? With Natasha injured, plus Steve and Sam's gear? Did none of the other drivers in the convoy suddenly notice four people in the road? Was there a getaway vehicle conveniently parked along the convoy's route, and if so, how did Hill know when they were at the right spot? And WHY would HYDRA put their weapons IN THE SAME VAN AS THE PRISONERS? Isn't that just ASKING for trouble?   
> This was my attempt to fix some of the gaps. I still did some hand-waving (how did Clint get hold of their weapons/follow them? I don't know, he's CLINT, he has skillz!) but I tried to make their escape a little more plausible. Also, in case you were wondering, I'm assuming the vehicles in the convoy continually switched positions to throw off anyone attempting rescue. Clint, following at a discrete distance, could tell Maria when her van reached the back of the convoy. (Let's say he marked it somehow). Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.


	4. Salt for Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy gets called in to a meeting with Pierce. This day just keeps getting better and better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for somewhat graphic depictions of violence and a mention of suicide. See end notes for details.

_Now don't you try and move me; you're just gonna lose_  
_There's a crash on the levee and, mama, you've been refused_  
_Well it's sugar for sugar, and it's salt for salt_  
_If you go down in the flood it's gonna be your fault_

 _But, oh mama, ain't you gonna miss your best friend now_  
_You're gonna have to find yourself another best friend, somehow_

\--"Down in the Flood", Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs

 

When Pierce calls her on her SHIELD phone, rather than paging her, Peggy figures something’s up.

“Report to my office, Agent. There’s a situation we need to discuss.”

Well, that doesn’t sound ominous.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she promises, and hangs up. She thinks for a moment, biting her lip, then makes a decision.

She pulls a derringer from her desk drawer and conceals it in her waistband, then tucks a couple of Widow’s Bites into the cuffs of her sleeves. She’s already got a knife in her boot and another strapped to her waist; she pulls a couple of the stiletto chopsticks Nat got her for her birthday and winds them into her hair. They’re made of ceramic, as are the knives; they won’t show up on a metal detector if she’s required to pass through one. Finally, she takes a button-sized mic and hides it under her collar, then sets it up to record to her laptop and phone.

Thus armed, she heads down the hall, stopping at Sharon’s cubicle.

“Hey, Sharon.”

“Hi, Peggy!” Sharon smiles at her warmly, but there’s a tinge of strain to her features, and a tension to her shoulders that’s not normally there. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking of going to get a coffee,” says Peggy, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen from Sharon’s desk. “Want to come?”

“Oh, sure! Just let me—”

“If you’ve got something you need to finish, I can meet you there,” she continues, and shows Sharon the message she just wrote: _Pierce is involved with Fury’s death. He’s just sent for me._

Sharon grabs the pen. “Well, I _was_ kind of in the middle of something.” _You need backup?_

“Well, shall we meet in, say, half an hour? I have a couple things I should finish up, anyway.” _If I don’t meet you in 30 minutes, come looking_

Sharon nods, casually crumpling the top several pages of the pad in her fist. “Sounds good. Foyer?”

“East entrance. It’s closest to the café.”

It’s not, in fact, close to much of anything, but Sharon merely nods again, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “See you then.”

Peggy waves a hand and continues down the hall, taking the elevator up to Pierce’s floor. No one gets in, and when she exits the elevator, the hallway is deserted. Static prickles up her spine. Something is very, very off. She just hopes she can handle it.

She takes a moment to compose herself (and turn on the recording device on her jacket), and knocks on Pierce’s door.

“Come in.”

She does, closing the door carefully behind her, and tries not to feel like she’s trapping herself as she does so.

Pierce isn’t alone; two guys from Strike Team Two are lurking near the door—Geoffries and Lawton, she thinks. She’s seen them both in action, even gave her approval on Lawton’s assessment. They wouldn’t know that, though. Peggy’s role in decision-making at SHIELD is something that Nick and Maria have been careful to conceal from as many people as possible. These two guys aren’t stupid, but they’re not great tacticians, either—the kinds of jobs they’re usually assigned to require brawn over brains. If it comes to a fight, she can probably take them.

She doesn’t let any of what she’s thinking show on her face, just nods at them and crosses the room to Pierce’s desk. The guy has a huge office; Peggy and Nat have jokingly wondered whether he’s compensating for something. Maybe this is where he holds his secret HYDRA jamborees.

“You wanted to see me, Secretary Pierce?”

Pierce smiles at her, charming in a gosh-a-hyuck manner borrowed straight from Ronald Reagan. In retrospect, Peggy feels she ought to have known he was evil long before this.

“Thanks for coming, Miss Carter.”

 _Miss._ Not Agent. Peggy would be seething, if the fact that he’s already patronizing her didn’t exponentially increase her odds of surviving this encounter. Alright, maybe she’s still seething a little. She keeps her smile polite and bland, waiting for whatever comes next.

“After the tragic events of yesterday, I’m personally interviewing everyone who was close to Nick Fury,” he says. “He was my friend, and I am determined to find out why and how he was murdered.”

 _Like you didn’t order the hit_ , Peggy thinks caustically. “I understand, sir,” she says, letting the smile drop into a more serious expression. “We’re all reeling.”

“I understand you sat in on many of Nick’s assessments for new hires.”

 _More like argued with Nick until we were both blue in the face over new hires._ “That’s right,” she says aloud.

He gives her a searching look. “I have to say, that seems like an… odd… decision, considering that most of your work seems to be in data analysis.”

 _He doesn’t know. Thank God for Nick’s paranoia._ “It _was_ an odd decision,” she says, smiling a little. “Director Fury seemed to think I had a good instinct for spotting talent. I was grateful enough to get a break from number-crunching.”

Pierce flips through a file in front of him. He’s not reading it, she knows—he’s trying to psych her out, make her nervous. Well, he’s going to have to work a hell of a lot harder for that. “You were present for Natasha Romanov’s intake interview?”

She nods. “That’s correct, sir.”

“May I ask why? That interview was highly classified.”

“Actually, that was mostly a coincidence, sir.” Her mouth quirks into a self-deprecating smile. “Deputy Director Hill was in the hospital, and they wanted another woman on the interview team. I happened to be one of the few people available who had any familiarity with the situation.”

“And why was that?”

She allows herself to look surprised, as though she’d assumed Pierce would already know. “I was the one who analyzed her hit pattern and predicted her target. The idea was to set a trap so Barton could neutralize her, but…” She lifts one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “He brought her in instead.”

“And your relationship with Romanov now?”

“We’re friends. Good friends.”

“Not lovers?”

Shit. Peggy’s been pretty careful, but she should have known that kidnapping incident would come back to haunt her.

“Not—as such,” she says carefully. Pierce raises his eyebrows, and she lets out an exasperated huff. “We—we had a thing, but it… didn’t work out. We’re—her job, it’s just too… we decided we’d be… better off… as friends.”

“You seem less than happy with that situation.” Pierce is doing the whole concerned-uncle bit, and Peggy is finding it hard to resist punching him in that smug face. She’s no amateur, though, and so she takes his bait easily, acting as though she has no idea he’s leading her on.

“It’s not the first time someone’s chosen their job over me,” she says ruefully. “I’m… resigned to it, I suppose, but it still hurts.”

“And now she’s on the run. With Steve Rogers.”

“Yes, I—I thought she was more sensible than that, honestly.”

He leans back in his chair, regarding her closely. He still hasn’t invited her to sit down. Wanker. “Tell me about Steve Rogers.”

There’s no point in pretending she and Steve aren’t close; it’s well-known that she’s pretty much his best friend, outside of the Avengers. (She _is_ his best friend, Avengers or no. She’s quite proud of that fact.) Instead, she acts the put-upon, sensible woman who thinks her friend has gone off the deep end.

“Steve is… impulsive,” she says. “Director Fury’s death hit him hard, and I expect he just… snapped.” She meets his eyes. “I tried to call him—I thought maybe I could talk some sense into him—but it didn’t go through.”

Pierce leans forward again, steepling his hands together. “Miss Carter, your closeness with Rogers and Romanov is well-known. There are some who would question your loyalty to SHIELD in the face of their defection.”

Peggy bites her lip. “Sir, I—I don’t pretend to understand precisely why Steve and Natasha have—defected—but I promise you, my first loyalty is to SHIELD. I’ll admit I’m hoping this is all a misunderstanding, and that once they’re back in SHIELD custody they’ll cooperate.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Pierce laughs. “Well, Miss Carter, for what it’s worth, I believe you. Unfortunately, we have come to a point where loyalty to SHIELD is no longer enough.”

She feels her pulse quicken, and wills herself to stillness. No sudden moves. She is suddenly hyper-aware of the pistol resting on her hip, and of the two men at her back.

“Sir?”

“I’m about to make you an offer, Miss Carter. An offer you can’t refuse.” He smiles, like it’s a joke, and walks around the desk. Peggy steps away from him, trying to make it look like she’s just giving him room. The two goons move closer.

“You see, SHIELD has become outdated. Ineffective. Inefficient.” Pierce waves a hand at the wall, and a projection splashes across it: the familiar tentacled symbol of HYDRA.

Peggy has to swallow a wave of nausea at the sight. It’s one thing to know that HYDRA has concealed itself right in the core of SHIELD; it’s another to actually _see_ it.

“We’re building a new future here, Margaret,” he says, horrifyingly chummy. “Order from chaos. Peace from war. And you can be a part of it.”

“I’ve been fighting HYDRA for the past fifteen years,” she reminds him dryly. “What makes you think I’m going to convert now?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” says Pierce, apparently sincerely. “Aren’t you tired of fighting? Things could be so much better. Look at the world, Margaret. It’s a shambles. But with HYDRA, we can have _order_. We can have _peace_. We’re almost ready. We just need one final push.”

“And how are you going to achieve that?”

Pierce smiles at her, and she thinks of a lizard, waiting to catch some hapless insect with its long tongue. It’s hard not to let her disgust show.

“We have an algorithm,” he says. “With Project Insight, we can kill anyone who threatens the world order. We can stop the bad guys before they even do anything.”

The projection on the wall changes to a schematic, a run-down of Insight’s capabilities. Peggy’s been arguing with Nick about this stupid project for months, but she’d never realized the extent of it. _Something else he forgot to mention_ , she thinks. _Nick and his secrets. If he was alive I’d wring his neck._

“Seven million people?” she says aloud. “Don’t you think that’s overkill?”

Pierce raises his hands in a “what can you do” sort of gesture. “Security comes with a price. Sometimes, we have to make tough choices. Really, is this any different from Nagasaki and Hiroshima? Peace requires sacrifices. _Safety_ requires sacrifices.”

 _Hiroshima and Nagasaki were atrocities_ , she thinks. _And I notice you aren’t the one making the sacrifice_.

“Okay,” she says aloud. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we _do_ need order. I certainly wouldn’t say no to a little peace.”

Pierce blinks at her in surprise, momentarily lost for words.

“I’ll join,” she says decisively.

There’s another, longer pause, and then Pierce laughs. “Very good, Miss Carter. But it’s not quite as easy as that. We can use someone of your skills, but not until after Insight launches. In the meantime, you will stay in one of our containment facilities.” He nods at the guards, who are now holding onto her elbows. “Cuff her.”

And normally, she would go along with it. She would let them cuff her, let them lead her away, and once they were a couple floors down, she would take out the guards and escape. But they don’t have time, and Steve and Nat are depending on her being their insider here, and the only way she’s going to be able to do that is if there are no witnesses to this little encounter.

_Fuck._

“You know what?” she says out loud. “Fuck this. Fuck you, and fuck HYDRA. You can all bloody fuck yourselves, because I’m not going over.”

Pierce shakes his head. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am sorry.” He heaves a theatrical sigh, and gestures toward the window. “Oh, well. Plan B it is.”

Peggy follows his gesture, and frowns. “You’re going to throw me out the _window_?” she asks in disbelief.

“Well,” says Pierce, “I’d just have you shot, but it’s a tad obvious.”

“And having me thrown out the window of your office isn’t?” she demands. “You think nobody’s going to notice that I went up to your office and never came down?”

He nods, baring his teeth in what he probably thinks of as an intimidating grin. Peggy has been sleeping with Natasha for over a year, now; she knows what _real_ intimidation looks like, and this isn’t it. This man needs to step up his game.

“That’s exactly what I think, Miss Carter. No one saw you come up. The security feed in this part of the building has been on loop for the past twenty minutes. Anyone reviewing the footage will see you entering the 42nd floor, find the open window in storage room 426A, and assume you committed suicide.”

“And why would I do that?”

The goons prod her toward the window, and Peggy goes easily, waiting for the right moment. Very few people at SHIELD have seen her fight all-out. As far as anyone here knows, she meets the minimum requirements for a non-field agent, and that’s it. Neither Pierce nor the Strike Team is aware that she spends a great deal of her free time sparring with the Avengers.

Three-to-one odds with her hands unbound isn’t anywhere close to the biggest challenge she’s faced. She’s only mildly worried.

“Because, Miss Carter, you have just found out that your best friend and your lover—yes, we know about that—are dead.”

His words are like a punch to the gut, like a knife carving straight into her lungs and twisting. For a second, all she can do is stare at him, all her breath gone.

“No,” she says.

“Yes.” Pierce waves a hand, and another scene is projected on the wall—Steve, Natasha, and another man, whom she assumes is Sam Wilson, kneeling in the street, surrounded by SHIELD SUVs. As she watches, a man in a tac vest puts his gun to Steve’s head.

“Rogers and his allies were apprehended just thirty minutes ago,” say Pierce, and there’s a sick sort of satisfaction in his voice. “They have since been disposed of.”

“No,” she whispers, and lets herself slump, lets her heartbreak show on her face. There are tears in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide them.

Pierce opens the window, and cold air whistles through. Peggy moves toward it of her own accord, the goons falling a step behind her. In the window’s reflection, she can see that only one of them has his gun trained on her.

“Really, Miss Carter?” Pierce goads. “Broken so easily? I would have thought you were made of sterner stuff.”

She stops, mere inches from the edge, and looks at him. “We lost,” she says, and smiles a little. “Nick’s gone, Steve and Nat are gone… what do I have left, really?” She looks down at the ground, far, far below. “Might as well make a decent exit.”

She doesn’t move though, standing with her hands on either side of the window.

“Geoffries,” says Pierce. “I believe Miss Carter might need a push.”

Geoffries obeys, and the second he touches her, she drops, elbowing him hard in the stomach on the way down. Before he can react, she grabs his arm and flips him over her hip, straight through the open window.

Lawton shoots, and she dives sideways, toward Pierce—Lawton can’t shoot without risking hitting his boss, and she uses his moment of indecision to draw her derringer, flicking off the safety and firing as she rolls behind the desk.

The first shot misses, and so does the second. Peggy pops up from behind the desk and shoots Lawton a third time, this time hitting him right in the head. He goes down in a spray of blood, but Peggy can’t concentrate on that, because Pierce has gotten behind her, and has one arm around her neck and a gun to her head.

“Drop the gun,” he says. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

 _You’re going to shoot me anyway_ , she thinks, but drops the gun. She’s got her face turned into the crook of his elbow, so the pressure he’s putting on her neck doesn’t actually cut off her airway. She pretends, though, thrashing and making choking noises, one arm grasping at his arm like she’s trying to break his hold. His arm tightens, and her struggles get weaker and weaker, until she goes limp.

The second he moves his gun hand, she grabs his wrist, forcing the gun away from her, and stabs him in the stomach with her free hand. Pierce grunts in pain. Peggy twists around, still keeping his gun away from her, and drives one of her chopsticks into his throat.

He makes an awful gurgling noise and falls backwards, blood bubbling from his mouth and neck and spreading in a dark wave across his torso. Peggy grimaces. She hates killing people, but in this case, she can’t feel much remorse.

 She gets his laptop, using his thumbprint to unlock it, and attaches one of Stark’s devices—which he calls Advanced Data Collection Drives, but which Nat, Peggy, and Steve call Barnacles, much to Stark’s chagrin—to the underside of the computer. It only takes the Barnacle a second to connect with the hard drive, and Peggy sets it to download everything on the laptop.

It takes six minutes and thirty-four seconds for the Barnacle to download the contents of Pierce’s computer, during which time Peggy drags Pierce and Lawton’s bodies to the window and throws them out, then uses paper towels from Pierce’s bathroom to clean the blood from the hardwood floor and her clothing. By the time it’s finished downloading, she looks at least somewhat presentable, and the office doesn’t look like a murderous brawl took place there.

It still doesn’t look _great_ , but there’s no evidence of her presence here. Pierce himself made sure of that.

She collects the Barnacle, closes the laptop, and lets herself out of the office. The floor is deserted, and so is the elevator. Peggy gets out at a random floor, taking a different elevator, and then a staircase, to get to the east exit. She’s trembling a little, and she’s finding it harder and harder to breathe evenly.

 _Nat and Steve are alright. They have to be._ Pierce didn’t actually show footage of them being killed. That has to mean something, right? He has to have been bluffing. _They’re alright.  They’ll be fine. Maria’s on the Strike Team, she’ll… do something. She won’t let them die._

“Peggy?” Sharon’s hovering near the entrance, looking concerned. There’s no one around, and no cameras close enough to pick up her voice when she leans in close. “You okay?”

“Not here,” Peggy whispers, and straightens, determinedly cheerful. “Come on, darling. I’m dying for a cuppa.”

 

 

They’ve been driving for about half an hour when Natasha’s phone rings. Immediately, everyone goes tense.

Natasha’s face is perfectly blank as she accepts the call, putting it on speaker. Steve, knowing what that look means on Nat, feels his stomach clench. Whatever this is, it isn’t good.

“Hello?”

“Natasha!” says Peggy’s voice. She’s breathing hard, her voice higher than normal. “Thank God. Are you—are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” says Natasha. Sam raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly at her shoulder, and she gives him the finger. “What about you?”

“And Steve? Steve is okay?”

“We’re all fine,” Natasha reassures her. “Are you?”

“I’m—fine,” she says, in a way that sounds like she really isn’t. “But… I think I’ve—I might have made a bollocks of this. I don’t know.”

“Made a… what? What happened?”

Peggy blows out a breath, making a rush of static over the speaker. “I killed Pierce.”

“WHAT??!”

“I killed Pierce,” she repeats, sounding mulish now. “He didn’t give me much choice.”

“But—you were going to stay undercover—where are you, what—”

“I’m still at SHIELD,” she says. “Well, I’m pretending to be on a Starbucks run with Sharon, but I’m going back in a minute. I don’t think they know it was me.”

“Peggy…”

Hill cuts in. “Agent Carter, I thought we agreed we needed Pierce _alive_.”

“He had a gun to my head, it wasn’t like I had a lot of choice!” Peggy snaps. There’s a pause, and then she adds, in a quieter tone, “He called me into his office on a pretense, and tried to kill me. It was—the situation got out of control, I didn’t… Anyway. He’s dead, and Sitwell’s dead, so apparently now Rumlow’s in charge. Which is good for us, because he’s a complete idiot. But Pierce was going to set my death up as an accident, so… I was able to use that. No one knows I was in there, not even Rumlow. So it ought to be alright, as far as it goes.”

Natasha’s face is still terribly blank, her fingers white-knuckled on the phone. Steve puts a hand on her good shoulder, and she leans back into his touch, just the tiniest bit.

“You’re alright, though,” she says. “You’re not hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” says Peggy reassuringly. “Just a bit shaken. It was closer than I’d have liked.”

“Yes, well. It’s closer than I’d like, either.”

“I’d better go,” she says, after another pause. “I’ll call you tonight, alright? Let me know what’s happening.”

“Okay. Peggy?”

“Yes?”

Natasha clearly struggles with herself for a moment before saying softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Come back to me in one piece, okay?”

“I will.”

“Bye, then.”

“Bye.”

She hangs up, and stares blankly into space for a moment, before rubbing her face and sighing. “Well. Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Peggy kills three HYDRA agents. It's fairly messy. Pierce attempts to make her fake suicide, and Peggy pretends to go along with it.  
> Re: Rumlow becoming head of SHIELD-- basically, I'm assuming Pierce would have set up a chain of command where other HYDRA agents would assume the Director position if something happened to him. We get a hint of this in the movie, with Sitwell taking control of SHIELD on Fury's death, rather than Deputy Director Hill. So I'm guessing that Sitwell was promoted to Acting Director. I can't really see Rumlow as a leader long-term, but my headcanon is that Pierce was scrambling to find enough SHIELD/HYDRA operatives with high enough clearance to take over if something happened. Rumlow being 3rd-in-command would be a temporary fix... until it wasn't.  
> I did look up some other SHIELD/HYDRA agents, but I'm unfamiliar with most of them, and thought I'd better stick to a character I actually know.


	5. Only Shadows Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their last chance to stop Project Insight, and Steve is determined to save Becky for good. If she shows up, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: non-graphic violence.

 

_Now I'm walking again to the beat of a drum_  
_And I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart_  
_Only shadows ahead barely clearing the roof_  
_Get to know the feeling of liberation and release_

\--"Don't Dream It's Over", Crowded House

Nick Fury is alive. Nick Fury is alive, and Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or shake him until his teeth rattle. The latter is, unfortunately, not really an option: the guy’s still in a hospital bed in his weird secret underground bunker.

“You son of a bitch,” says Steve, with feeling, and then, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

***

Steve is convinced he’ll see the Winter Soldier—Becky—again. He’s determined that this time, he’ll make her remember him, he’ll get her out of HYDRA’s clutches.

“I don’t think she’s the kind you save,” says Sam. “She’s the kind you stop.”

Steve shakes his head. He’s been grieving Becky for ten years, and now…. He isn’t sure how he feels, or what to think, but he knows, down to the marrow of his bones, that he will do everything he can to save her. It’s not even a choice, not really. It’s a fact, like the law of gravity or the temperature at which water boils: Steve Rogers will always try to save Becky Barnes, and he’ll move heaven and earth to do it.

The knowledge that he’s already failed her once churns in his stomach, weighs on his chest, chokes him like ocean water. He feels so guilty he aches with it.

“I have to try,” he says, and Sam sighs.

“Okay, man. I just hope…” He trails off, shaking his head, and walks away.

***

Insight is due to launch in just under half an hour, and the World Council delegation is already on their way. Peggy sits at one of the computer banks in the Operations Room, waiting for the signal. A couple of rows behind her, Sharon is tense and serious, but that, at least, isn’t too suspicious— after all, this is supposed to be a momentous occasion.

Well, it’ll be momentous alright. Hopefully for the right reasons.

 _And if it doesn’t work, we won’t be here to worry about it,_ Peggy thinks grimly. She has no doubt that there’s a bullet on those helicarriers with her name on it, just as surely as those meant for Steve, Natasha, and the other Avengers.

She hears Rumlow’s voice in her ear, picked up by Natasha’s mic.

“Thanks for making it out here.”

“SHIELD obviously has a security threat,” says another voice. “Our priority is to launch Insight as quickly as possible, and neutralize it.”

“That’s our priority, too,” Rumlow responds quickly.

“Where is Deputy Director Hill?” Natasha asks. “I would have expected her to be here.”

“Secretary Pierce demoted Agent Hill yesterday,” says Rumlow. “We believe that she has close ties to Captain America. She’s on leave until further notice.”

“You still haven’t found Captain America?” It’s the same male voice from before, heavily laden with disapproval.

“We’re working on it!” Rumlow snaps. “Once Insight starts…” He breaks off. “Ah. This facility is biometrically controlled. These will give you unrestricted access.”

Alarm bells ring in Peggy’s head. Biometrically controlled? What has he just given them? She gets up and strolls to the door, nodding to the guards in greeting before heading to the loo. Once safely ensconced in a stall, she turns on her mic.

She can’t speak Natasha’s name aloud, here; it’s too dangerous. On the other hand, she needs to catch her attention.

“Baby,” she settles on. “Listen to me, the only biometric access stuff around here are retinal and thumbprint scanners, and there aren’t any overrides for them. Whatever he just gave you, it’s not what he says it is.”

“I understand,” says Natasha, with just enough of a pause that Peggy knows she’s responding to her, “that you’ve improved security since Fury’s assassination?”

“Of course,” Rumlow assures her, and goes off on a long monologue about their heightened security measures. There are a few things Peggy hadn’t been aware of; now they won’t be caught by surprise. Good. Rumlow’s not stupid, but he’s no Pierce; Insight will be much easier to take down with him at the helm.

She heads back to the control room, listening to the Council members chattering in her ear.

“We’re in position,” Hill reports. “Barton, status?”

“In position.”

“Carter?”

Peggy sneezes twice, the prearranged signal to indicate she’s ready.

“Widow?”

Natasha sneezes loudly.

“We are commencing Phase 1,” says Hill.

Peggy takes a breath. They have twenty minutes to save the world.

It’s another ten minutes before Steve says, “Lock the doors, Pegs.”

She looks around. The strike team is due to arrive any minute, but they’re not there yet. She catches Sharon’s eye, and gives the slightest of nods. Sharon gets up, walking slowly toward the door on the far side of the room. Peggy picks up the wrapper of the protein bar she was eating and heads toward the other door, where the trash can is.

She’s just reached it when the intercom clicks on.

“Attention all SHIELD agents. This is Steve Rogers.”

She has to grin at the sheer audacity of the man. He’s committed to making sure everyone can make an informed decision about this, yes, but she can’t help thinking he’s also enjoying the chaos he’s about to create.

Around her, everyone is murmuring in surprise and apprehension, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Nobody is paying any attention as she leans against the door and locks it.

“I think it’s time you know the truth,” Steve says. “SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It’s been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce was their leader. Brock Rumlow is acting as his replacement within SHIELD. The Strike and Insight teams are HYDRA, too. I don’t know how many more, but I know they’re in the building.”

People are looking at each other now, wide-eyed and fearful and suspicious. They’ve fallen silent, though, straining to hear Steve’s words.

The door handle jiggles. Peggy leans her full weight against it. It won’t be long, now.

“If you let those helicarriers launch today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone who stands in their way. Unless we stop them.”

Something bangs against the door, and the three agents nearest Peggy glance up. She jerks her head at the door behind her. “Strike Team. They’re HYDRA.”

She waits, tense, for one of them to draw a weapon, but none of them do; instead, they hurry over and add their weight against the door.

“I know I’m asking a lot. The price of freedom is high.”

Shots ring out over the com, and she winces.

“Barton? That you?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” Clint pants. “I got backup.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay,” continues Steve. “And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.”

The thuds against the door are getting louder. Halfway across the room, someone pulls a knife; two more agents wrestle her to the ground.

The recording Peggy took comes on, of Pierce detailing his—and HYDRA’s—plans to take over the world. Hopefully, that will convince anyone who wasn’t bowled over by Steve’s speech, but there isn’t time to sit about and listen to it.

“Okay,” shouts Peggy. “You heard Cap! We need to prevent the launch. The Strike Team’s trying to get in—we need to barricade the doors. Anyone involved with the launch sequence, come to me. Let’s move, people!”

There’s an instant uproar; some people are arguing, others rush to carry tables and chairs and even computers over to the doors, and some just stand there, too shocked to react.

She hears a shot, and sees Sharon wrestling a guy with a gun; a woman yells, “Hail HYDRA!” and another woman knocks her out with a folding chair.

Peggy heads to where Dylan, the guy who’s supposed to start the launch sequence, is sitting. There’s another agent standing next to him—McConnell, she thinks. The way he’s looming over Dylan doesn’t look good, and her suspicions are confirmed when she gets within hearing distance.

“Start the launch!”

“I—”

McConnell has a gun, she realizes. He’s holding it low, where it’s harder to see, jabbing it into Dylan’s side. “Now!”

“I—I can’t,” wavers Dylan. “Cap’s orders.”

Before McConnell can do anything further, Peggy grabs his gun arm, smacking his head with the butt of her pistol at the same time. His gun goes off, shooting a hole in the floor. Peggy bludgeons him again, and he slumps over the table.

“Nice going, kid,” she says breathlessly. “Think you can scramble the launch codes?”

“Uh,” he says, staring at her, wide-eyed. “Y—yes? I mean, yes! Yes, I can do that. Definitely. Um. Let me just…”  He turns around, to where a young woman with dark skin and dreadlocks has taken refuge under the table. “Hey, Marcy? We need to scramble these codes. So we can… uh… why are we doing this?”

“So when the Strike Team breaks through, they can’t just hit a button and start the launch,” says Peggy crisply. “Time is of the essence, Dylan. Pull yourself together.”

“Right,” he says. “Right… Marcy?”

“On it.” She settles at the computer next to him, her fear visibly melting into determination as her fingers fly over the keyboard. “Don’t worry, Agent, by the time we’re through, the only way those helicarriers will launch is if they’re tied to hot air balloons.”

“Excellent.” Peggy glances around the rest of the room: the HYDRA agents have all been subdued, and there’s an impressive pile of furniture in front of both doors. It won’t last forever, but it doesn’t need to—it just needs to hold for long enough.

***

Natasha waits until Steve’s monologue is done, and continues to wait until Rumlow starts waving a gun around. It takes surprisingly little time to take out the Strike Team (but then, that’s what the Widow’s Bites are for), and soon she has Rumlow at gunpoint. He still looks far too calm for someone who’s just had all their plans destroyed. Natasha’s eyes narrow, and she pulls the “access key” off her suit jacket.

“Everyone, take these off. I don’t know what they are, but they’re not biometric access keys.”

For the first time, Rumlow stops looking so smug. She has a moment of satisfaction.

“You still need someone else with my clearance level to access the launch,” he points out.

Natasha gives him her sweetest smile. “Oh, I’m well aware. Director Fury? I believe this is your cue.”

***

She’s not there. Steve was so sure that she would be, but there’s no sign of her on the helicarriers, no sign as they battle the Strike Teams and rally the other SHIELD agents and take over the helicarriers’ coding.

There’s no sign of her afterwards, when they round up the remaining HYDRA double-agents and destroy Zola’s algorithm and upload HYDRA’s secrets to the Internet. When the day finally ends, with HYDRA beaten (for the moment, anyway) and SHIELD in disarray, Steve finally has to admit that Becky isn’t coming. Somewhere out there, she’s still in HYDRA’s clutches, and even though he’s technically won this particular battle, he can’t help feeling hollow.

He was so determined to save her, and he didn’t even get the chance to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House.  
> Steve's speech is mostly copied from CA:WS, as is his conversation with Sam.  
> Since Peggy was able to download a great deal of information the previous day, Natasha's information dump is more targeted (and therefore less catastrophic for non-HYDRA SHIELD agents, including herself) than in canon.  
> Since Natasha removed the "access keys", Rumlow was unable to kill the World Council.  
> I sort of ran out of energy on this one, so not much in the way of actual fight scenes, but please rest assured that our heroes kicked the Strike Teams' asses.


	6. When the World Comes In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Project Insight.

_Don't dream it's over [...]_   
_When the world comes in_   
_They come, they come_   
_To build a wall between us_   
_We know they won't win_

_Don't let them win_

\-- "Don't Dream It's Over", Crowded House

It’s not the end, of course. Steve has a long and exhausting meeting with the World Security Council, which ends with them agreeing that Insight was a human rights violation, that a resolution should be drawn to prevent any other projects like this in the future, and that HYDRA is a major threat to international peace and security. It surprises almost nobody when they decide  the Avengers should organize the anti-HYDRA Task Force.

It surprises Steve a little that they’re so willing to forgive and forget the various kinds of damage he and the others wreaked in their quest to stop Project Insight.

“Oh, come on,” says Natasha. They’re in Clint’s apartment, since everyone else’s are compromised by the recent debacle. Clint, as it turns out, hoards safehouses like some people might shoes. Steve’s beginning to think he’s got the right idea. “Nobody can stand up to Captain America’s disappointed face, not even the World Security Council.”

“And here I thought it was my stunning good looks,” drawls Peggy, who managed to avoid the debrief entirely. She’s been offered a position on an MI6 taskforce, and is busy investigating all of her immediate superiors. Steve wonders whether they’ll be upset, or just impressed, when and if they find out she managed to hack their files within minutes of the interview. “Nick called, by the way.”

Steve rubs his fingers through his hair, dislodging the gel he’d used to keep it in place for the meeting. “That’s the third call in the past two days. I thought he was keeping a low profile?”

“You think that’s gonna stop him calling to harangue us?” Clint says from his perch in the rafters.

“Nick wouldn’t miss the opportunity to kibitz on how we’re running AHT.” Peggy makes a note on the pad of paper next to her laptop. “You know how he is.”

Sam wanders into the room, carrying a coffee mug. “Are we actually calling it that? Anti-HYDRA Taskforce?”

“It’s simple,” Natasha says.

“You know we’re all going to be calling it HAT, right?” says Clint. “Just sayin’.”

“I called it HAT when I talked to Nick yesterday,” says Steve, grinning. “He kept correcting me.”

“Does he… not realize you’re doing it just to annoy him?” Sam asks.

“Apparently not.”

“God, Rogers, you’re such a troll. Why does everyone think you’re a good person?”

“It’s that innocent face of his,” says Peggy. “Had me fooled for nearly a week.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “That long, huh?”

“Well, you were still all shy and stammery around me, remember? And then I got to know you, and realized what an absolute twat you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Steve virtuously. “Anyway, were you going to tell me what Nick said, or do I have to guess?”

Peggy’s expression turns serious. “He called about your missing person case.”

His breath catches in his throat, and the room blurs for a moment. Deliberately, he closes his eyes, opens them again. His voice sounds strange and rough in his own ears. “What did he say?”

Peggy flips to a different page on her notepad. “He gave me some coordinates. Said we might find something useful there, if we’re quick off the mark. And… if we send the right person to retrieve it.”

She makes eye contact with Natasha, some silent communication passing between them, and Natasha takes the notepad before Steve can.

Her sharp intake of breath sounds loud in the small room. “Whittaker.”

“Who?”

“One of my… associates,” she says, sharing another speaking glance with Peggy. “From the old days.”

“Dangerous?” Steve asks.

“Extremely.”

“Then—”

“I’d better go alone,” Natasha says. “Nick’s right. This will take careful handling.”

“But—”

“Steve,” she says gently. “I know you want to do something. You’re not good at sitting still. But believe me when I tell you, this? This is something I need to do. If you come with me, chances are he’ll be gone before we get there.”

He looks at her uncertainly, torn between his desire to leap into action, and his faith that Natasha won’t steer him wrong. “Natasha…”

“My turf, Rogers,” she says, and her smile is soft and fond and genuine. “My rules. Let me go after him. I’ll find whatever he's got on Barnes, and we’ll plan our next move.”

“We’re a team, Steve,” says Peggy. “Let us help.”

“I…” He gives up, spreads his hands helplessly. “Thank you.”

Natasha gives him another smile, and kisses his cheek on the way to the bedroom where they’re keeping their gear. “Don’t worry, Cap. I got this.”

Steve looks around at his team, his _friends_ , and feels some tension ease within him. Whatever happens, whatever he has to do, he won’t be alone.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House.


	7. I Won't Tell 'em Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a happy chapter. It takes place before the last two chapters, but I put it here because Reasons. This leads directly into And the Fall to Doom a Long Way Away, so just bear that in mind.
> 
> Content warning for torture and suicidal thoughts. Details in the end notes.

 

_And even though the moment passed me by_  
_I still can't turn away_  
_'Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose_  
_Got tossed along the way_

_[...]_

_If you could hide beside me_  
_Maybe for a while_  
_And I won't tell no one your name_  
_And I won't tell 'em your name_

\-- "Name", the Goo Goo Dolls

 

They strip off her tac gear and shove her into the Chair, placing restraints on her flesh arm and ankles. A tech approaches, prying apart the plates on her upper arm to get at the hardware beneath.

She sits still, compliant, and tries to process the feelings rushing through her, the flashes of _something_ hovering at the edges of her mind, just out of reach.

The man on the bridge had called her something. _Becky_ , he’d said, and met her eyes with astonishment and… hope? Relief? Whatever it was, she’s never seen someone look at her with that expression before. It makes her uncomfortable, nervous. In her narrow world of blood and pain, she’s come to rely on the few things that seem constant: her cell, her gear, the feel of the sedatives in her veins. Her rifle, heavy and sure in her hands. The look of fear in the faces of her targets.

It unsettles her, the change in his expression when he saw her face.

_Becky?_

“Who the hell is Becky?” she’d said, but the name clutches at her now, and she can almost hear an echo of it, spoken by the same voice, in a different time.

 _Becky!_ The name screamed, over a vast distance, laden with fear and panic and anguish. The rush of wind in her ears, blank white rushing up to meet her. A pale face disappearing, turning into a little dot above her, whisked away before she can call out.

Sometimes, when she’s in her cell and they’ve turned the temperature down, drugs working through her system and turning everything hazy and slow, she’s bothered by the memory—the _illusion_ —of snow.

White blanketing the world, heaped on grey, jagged rocks, so cold it burns like fire, like being jabbed with a million needles all at once.

_“Help me,” she pleaded, repeated it in Pashto, in Dari, in Urdu, but they didn’t speak to her. They grabbed her legs and dragged her, dragged her through the snow._

_A red streak followed her, blood from her mangled arm._

Her head throbs. Her throat feels tight and swollen. _The man_ , she thinks. _There’s something about him,_ but she can’t quite get it, can’t catch hold of it.

_Strapped to a metal table, a rubber bit stuck between her teeth. The whir of a bone saw, agony so intense her vision whited out, and she realized that the broken screams tearing at her ears were her own._

She doesn’t know what’s going on, can’t understand what these—these _images_ , are, and frustration wells up in her chest. She lashes out with her left arm, backhanding the tech halfway across the room.

There’s a chorus of clicks as the surrounding agents cock their guns, training their weapons on her chest. If she moves, they might shoot her.

 _Would I die_? she wonders, and considers ripping at the restraints, just to see. If they shoot her, she won’t have to think about snow and _Becky!_ and the man on the bridge.

God, it hurts, a throbbing ache in her chest like a cracked rib. She slumps over, breathing hard. Something is off, something is wrong; she can feel it, pressing under her skin, poking at her. It’s not the kind of pain she’s used to. She doesn’t know how to endure it, and it terrifies her.

There’s a commotion at the door, and someone says, “Sir, it’s not stable,” and someone else says, “Do I look like I care?”

She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters except the ache in her ribs. Except.

Boots march across the concrete floor. A voice she recognizes says, “Attention, Soldier.”

It’s instinct to lift her head at that, to hold herself at attention, not meeting her handler’s eyes. It’s the dark-haired one. He looks angry.

_Anger means punishment. Anger means pain._

She doesn’t know why he’s angry; she followed her orders. The targets were captured. But she’s long since learned that doing what she’s told doesn’t always allow her to escape punishment. Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be a reason—it’s just a reminder that her body doesn’t belong to her, any more than her mind does.

“Soldier,” he says. “Report.”

She knows how this goes. The protocol is drilled into her, the dull, concise statements adjusted for each mission. Target eliminated. Collateral damage. No witnesses.

The words won’t come. She stares at his boots, listening to the ringing in her ears.

_Becky?_

“Soldier. Report.”

“Soldier. Report.”

The slap comes as a surprise, her whole head jerking to hit the back of the Chair. She blinks up into his furious face, words slippery as blood in her mouth.

“Report,” he hisses.

She opens her mouth, but what comes out is, “The man… on the bridge. Who was he?”

The handler steps back, exchanging glances with one of the other agents. “It doesn’t matter. Make your report.”

“But…” and she knows better, she _knows better_ than to do this, to argue—she hasn’t tried to argue in so long. She doesn’t even remember the last time, if it even happened at all. But she can’t seem to help it. Something is pushing from inside her, pushing the words out without her consent. “I knew him.”

The handler hesitates, then says, in a calmer tone, “He was involved with one of your missions earlier this week.”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t remember him from a mission. Nobody on a mission would say _Becky!_ in that surprised tone of voice. Nobody else would… “I know him,” she repeats.

“We need you for another mission,” the handler says. “You need to focus.”

“He called me…” She licks her lips, something inside of her screaming to _stop! Shut up now!_ She can’t help it. “He called me a name.”

“You don’t have a name.”

“Becky,” she whispers softly. “He called me Becky.”

This time, he hits her hard enough to break the skin. Blood trickles into her mouth, sticky and metallic. She knows she’s done something wrong, but she’s not sure what. Maybe the man on the bridge would know—but no, he was her target, wasn’t he? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to talk to him. Normally, she doesn’t speak on missions at all.

But this mission had been different from the start. She’s never exposed herself like that, fighting in a street in the light of day.

“Wipe it and put it through conditioning,” says the handler. “It’s clearly breaking down.”

“But, sir, the mission tomorrow—”

“Do you really think I’m going to send it out like this? Its conditioning is breaking down, I tell you.” The handler casts her a disgusted look.

She feels a hot prickle of shame. She’s let them down, somehow. She’s done something wrong, and let them down.

“Wipe it,” he repeats. “I’ll deal with this once Insight launches.”

The techs approach her cautiously, but she doesn’t fight them as they put on more restraints. She doesn’t fight as they tip her back, as they force the rubber between her teeth.

She doesn’t struggle, but her hands clench on the arms of the Chair, and she starts to hyperventilate as the metal pads come down, as they clamp around her head.

 _Becky!_ she thinks. They start the machine. White pain lances through her head, like hot lead pouring through her skull, and there is no room left in her mind for thought.

All she can do is scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls.  
> Content warnings: Becky gets hit, gaslighted, and put in the Chair. She remembers losing her arm (sort of), and contemplates doing something that would get her killed.
> 
> Yes, the handler in this chapter is Brock Rumlow. My headcanon is that he's more invested in having everything go to plan than fucking with Captain America's head, so if the Asset doesn't appear fully functional, he won't use her. He also isn't going to risk her recognizing Steve again and breaking through her conditioning. So that's why she wasn't there for the final battle.
> 
> Also, the fact that Becky thinks of herself as "she" rather than "it" means that HYDRA's "conditioning" is already less successful than they realized. Food for thought.
> 
> Thanks for reading this! I'm working on the sequel to And the Fall to Doom, so stay tuned. If you have any critiques, please comment!


End file.
